


Lie Back and Think of Kattegat

by Ivarinleatherpants (AdamantErinyes)



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Breeding Kink, Exhibitionism, F/M, Seduction of the Innocent, Voyeurism, pure filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 21:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13373238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantErinyes/pseuds/Ivarinleatherpants
Summary: Strong-armed into a marriage with a Christian Princess, Ivar is angered when he learns the consummation must be witnessed. Meanwhile, his bride is intent on remaining indifferent to the whole proceedings. He decides to take a rather… unusual revenge on all of them.





	Lie Back and Think of Kattegat

The Great Heathen Army came down on the small kingdom like a Plague of Egypt, prepared to consume all that they had to offer. Word had reached them of the richness of their land, and the belly of that great beast of an army was rumbling.

The Princess stood behind her father’s throne as he negotiated with the three Viking princes. They believed that they had the upper hand, but the King’s spies had already informed him some time ago of the duplicity of King Ecbert, and that the Northmen were now without a reliable supply of food. They could threaten raids and the deaths of thousands, but the truth was that they needed a long-term solution to their problem.

She watched as the cunning King deftly manipulated the young, inexperienced warlords. He was interested in the long game as well. He had seen the turning of the tide, and would do whatever it took to assure the future of his kingdom.

While the youngest translated, the eldest expressed his reluctance to enter into another agreement with a Christian monarch. Her father’s eyes glinted, and by the end of the day the suggestion was made that a more permanent union would provide both sides with what they most desire. As the King’s only child, her husband would one day take his place. And until then, he would not dare turn against them with her far away in a Northman’s bed.

The only voice of dissent was the bishop, who protested that a Christian princess could not marry a pagan.

Then the calm, clear voice of the Princess broke in and said, “Do you not think, my lord Bishop, that perhaps a marriage to _one_ pagan might be a lesser evil than the deaths of thousands of our people?”

The bishop’s eyes flashed with anger. “Have you no faith in God’s deliverance?”

“And if this match _were_ God’s deliverance? Did He not save His people once before through Esther’s marriage to a pagan King?”

“You dare to lecture me on scripture?” His eyes bulged with apparent horror.

She immediately kneeled before him, lowering her head in humility. “Never, my lord. I am but a woman, and seek only to please God and do my duty as a daughter.”

But the damage had already been done, and the bishop’s anger demanded satisfaction. When he finally agreed to perform the ceremony, he convinced the King that the youngest prince was the best match for his daughter. The darkest of the three with the malady that forced him to either crawl or walk with strange metal braces on his legs, he also bore the cruelest reputation. He had not hidden his opinion of Christians, and only accepted after a long conversation with his brothers, during which they cast many mysterious looks at the icy princess.

As for the Princess, she submitted to the plans of her father and his advisors without protest. If she ever felt a twinge of apprehension, her mother was there to repeat the usual litany of reminders.

“A princess’s duty is to her people. She has no thought for herself. She must never complain or protest. A princess must always be dignified. Strong emotion is too common and vulgar. If you cannot help but feel it, at the very least you must not let it show.”

But even so, the Queen was still a mother, and came to her daughter’s room the night before her wedding to have ‘a talk’.

“It would be natural for you to be apprehensive, my child.”

The Princess dismisses this suggestion with a shrug. Even when her mother tries to delicately address the matter of her husband’s culture and reputation, the girl only gave a dry laugh.

“I have lived in court my whole life, mother, and I have hardly seen a single man who _couldn’t_ be described as a barbarian. One seems very much like another to me.”

For a moment, her mother thought that perhaps she had overdone it a little when she had tried to raise her daughter to have a dispassionate outlook on life. But then she remembered the life the Princess was destined for, and shook that thought out of her head.

“Nevertheless, these men are not like ours. I am afraid that your husband will not abstain from your bed at the prescribed times. You will likely have to accept his attentions far more often than is appropriate. However, we wish to make sure that you understand that it is more important that you submit yourself to him as a wife to her husband.”

“I understand, mother.” She understood that what the officials needed to make sure was that the pagan prince was kept pacified by this match. Above all else, his ire must never be brought to bear on them through her behavior.

Her mother was quick to assure her, “But if you allow him to do what he will, it never lasts for very long.”

Before, she might have assured her daughter that the babes that would result would be her reward for enduring her husband’s attentions. Only in this instance, with a pagan husband, it didn’t seem quite appropriate. It pained her to think of how the whole court whispered of the indignities her daughter would endure, being forced to bear the offspring of such a cruel, horrid man. What comfort could a poor mother offer in such a situation?

~...~

Ivar had been reluctant to marry a Christian, to put it mildly. But since his brothers had accepted him as the leader of their Great Army, he’d found himself faced with the responsibility to keep them fed and cared for. Ubbe had pointed out that she was a very attractive young woman, Hvitserk had commented that Ivar could always divorce her if necessary. And besides, the officials had decided that he was the one they wanted, and would accept no substitute. So he found himself strong armed on all sides into accepting the stone-faced girl as his wife.

Now he watched his new bride with curiosity. She had not spoken a single word after her initial, surprising remark in favor of the marriage. All throughout the negotiations and the ceremony, she hadn’t shown a single expression that might betray her emotions.

He’d thought that perhaps her demeanor was indicative of disdain, but now he saw that she regarded all people, Christian and pagan with the same, bland disinterest. And yet, she had spoken with such rationality, so she clearly wasn’t lacking in intelligence. It simultaneously irritated and fascinated him. He found himself putting a deal more time into contemplating her than he had ever spared for a noble girl of his own people.

Sitting beside him at their wedding feast, she ate with dainty precision. She made no move to engage him, and so he found himself speaking first.

“You do not seem displeased by this match.”

“I have been raised knowing that one day I would marry for the benefit of my family and my people. It makes little difference whether the man be pagan or not.” She said as if it were an obvious thing.

So, she saw him as just another man like any other, Ivar thought. She would do her duty without protest. He might have been glad that he wouldn’t have to face a weeping and terrified bride, he knew from experience that an unwilling partner was detrimental to his desire; and yet he found himself feeling provoked by her complete lack of interest in him. Did she not know who he was? He was Ivar the Boneless, leader of the Great Heathen Army and conqueror of York!

Even as they were led to the bridal chamber, she remained dignified and elegant, her head held high. Looking about the room, Ivar’s lip curled in disgust at the sight of the people gathered there. It was apparently a custom of the Christians that the consummation of marriages between the high-born must be witnessed. Several of the King’s closest advisors and the bishop stood to one side. Each one of them had pressed for this marriage, and now they waited to watch him perform, as if he were a dog brought to mount their prize bitch.

Ubbe and Hvitserk had joined in the procession, but they declined when asked if they wished to be witnesses. They found the custom to be rather strange, and Ivar was already angry enough about the whole situation as it was. So Ubbe patted his little brother on the shoulder, congratulated him on his lovely bride, and made his escape.

The Princess was brought into the room, having changed into a nightdress that absolutely swamped her. She primly climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, then proceeded to stare at the ceiling, waiting for him to approach.

As he removed his braces and then his shirt, he noticed the strangely smug expression with which the bishop regarded Ivar’s new wife. With a surge of loathing for the man, he realized that he was enjoying the prospect of seeing the Princess humiliated. He’d seen the way the bishop had reacted to her rational, pragmatic argument several days ago, and while Ivar had been reluctantly impressed, the bishop had obviously taken great offense to it. So that was why he had been so insistent on Ivar being the one she married.

He slipped from his chair, crawling to pull himself up onto the bed. His princess didn’t react, didn't even flinch when he reached out to cup her cheek with one rough palm. So, she intended to merely lie back and think of something else? Perhaps imagining herself in some faraway place, instead of underneath the body of her new husband.

It was enough to well and truly raise Ivar’s hackles. Being made to marry a Christian, her stubborn refusal to react to him, and that fucking bishop’s pompous belief that Ivar was an animal who would ravish his new wife and leave her broken. That these men even think they have the _right_ to watch as their princess’ virtue is taken fills him with rage.

He was expected to climb under the covers, raise her nightgown, and rut into her with as little fanfare as possible. But he wouldn’t do that, no, he’d spent enough time with one or two ‘helpful’ shieldmaidens to know better. He could make his little Christian wife give up her antipathy, give her body what it had never known before, _and_ give those self-satisfied arses a show they would regret making themselves a part of.

~...~

Her husband wrenched the bedding out of her hands and let it fall by their feet. There was something dark and wicked in his eyes, but it was suddenly replaced with a strangely amiable expression that drew her in, nearly hypnotizing her.

He stroked her forehead lightly, his voice a private whisper between them as he cooed, “Don’t be afraid. I only wish to look at you, wife, touch you. Will you let me do that?”

His blue eyes were wide with innocent question, his touch soothing. The Princess nodded slowly, and he rewarded her with a small smile as his gaze travelled down her body. His hand traced the same path, over her neck, shoulder, waist, hip, and finally down her leg. Lifting her knee, he urged her to bend it, and she blushed at the realization that he was making her open herself up, allowing his hand space to travel under the hem of her gown and back up her bare leg.

“I won’t hurt you.” He continued to croon.

She had been so prepared to bear his attentions with calm dignity, she didn’t know quite how to react to gentle caresses. More than that, she sensed that his touches were intended for her enjoyment. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something solely to please her..

Her husband… Ivar’s hand came to lightly cup her womanhood. It felt strangely… good. She could hear one of the witnesses clear his throat uncomfortably, but she couldn’t bring herself to be bothered that they might be feeling some discomfort. It was not _their_ wedding night, after all.

His palm began to rock gently, sending sparks of something that felt absolutely luscious through her body. He smiled as her breathing hitched and her eyes widened in surprise. What was this feeling? No one had ever spoken of such a thing, or at least, she didn’t _think_ they had.

“You see?” He said, a trace of that darkness creeping back. Only it didn’t fill her with dread the way she thought it should. It was enough for her to know that what she was feeling was what he intended, and as a dutiful wife she must, of course, accept his will without protest.

The Princess let her eyes fall shut as the sparks caught and began to grow. Her hands fluttered against her chest, feeling like she wanted to do something with them, but not entirely sure as to what.

“Do you want to touch me too?” Ivar coaxed, “You can if you want to.”

Oh, his arms _did_ look quite splendid, even with those strange markings all over them. Would that really be alright? He was her husband, and he had said she could. Tentatively, she brushed her fingers over his collarbone before finally settling her hand flat over his heart. She leaned her forehead against him right above it, shuddering as the pleasure continued to build between her legs. He smelled so _good_.

The fire burned brighter as his palm continued to move, two fingers now lightly circling her opening. It felt to the Princess like she was approaching something that is too much for her to bear. She made a sound of distress against her husband, and he whispered gentle encouragements into her hair, urging her to let go, give in to the frighteningly beautiful things that were happening to her body. It came over and washed through her like a cleansing rain, leaving behind a feeling of lightness she hadn’t known since she could first understand the word ‘duty’.

She realized she was smiling, a bright, _vulgar_ expression of raw happiness. It was like she had lived her whole life surrounded by gray and was suddenly thrust into a world full of color, and that color was a brilliant blue.

~...~

It had been a far more rewarding experience than Ivar had expected, drawing that first climax out of his bride’s untried body. Least of all had he expected the way she smiled after, or the way it had filled him with smug pride and pure delight to know it was all for him.

While the Princess was still dazed, he managed to get her out of the shapeless sack of a nightdress so he could more fully appreciate her figure. His breath caught at the sight of her. She was so unlike the battle-hardened Valkyrie he’d been with before. Her hips were rounded, her belly soft, and her breasts full. She was Freyja, a fertile goddess made to be touched and pleasured.

Ivar was torn between finding it a tragedy that such a creature had been so suppressed, and jealous gratitude that he would be the only one to ever touch her. He was painfully hard in his trousers, but he knew he must still hold himself back; both to continue his scheme to make the witnesses suffer and now, more importantly, to pay the proper homage to this magnificent gift he was sure had been crafted by the Gods themselves.

Awe was plainly showing on his face, and he sought to hide it from the Princess and the witnesses with a deep kiss. He would be no simpering penitent before her altar. Her God might ask for prostrated devotion, for self-sacrifice and humility, but his worship was in battle and blood; visceral, tactile and savage.

She was still as he licked harshly over her lips before claiming them with his own, accepting his ravishing without knowing how to respond. It sent a nearly overwhelming rush of lust through him to know that all her knowledge and all her pleasure would be _his_ and his alone.

“Open your mouth.” His voice was raw, the command a little harsher than he’d meant, but she obeyed nonetheless. With wide eyes she parted her lips so delicately, as though waiting for Ivar to feed her some tender morsel. He had a morsel to give her, alright.

The Princess gave a faint sound of surprise as he plunged his tongue in to finally taste the sweet warmth of her mouth. He couldn’t restrain his own groan of pleasure as his caresses coaxed a response from her, her own tongue tickling lightly at his as if in shy welcome.

Ivar’s hand was back between her glorious thighs, pressing against the intense heat that was hidden there. He was bolder this time, daring to breach her opening with the very tip of one finger as they stroked and played through her folds. It seemed to take no time at all before she was trembling against him once again, and he used the fresh rush of moisture to ease his way inside, first with the one digit and then with two.

Soon though, he found he was dissatisfied by only being able to use one hand to pleasure his Princess. He lifted her by the shoulders, forcing her to sit up so he could slip in behind her. Now he could pull her back against his him, feel her bare skin against his chest, and both of his hands were free to explore. While one went back to its task between her legs, the other could knead at the soft flesh that covered every inch of her. He gave her no respite, toying mercilessly with her sex until she was crying out in ecstasy, and then not letting up until it had come over her again and again.

~...~

“Husband.” The Princess finally managed to whisper, her tear-stained cheek turned back towards him over her shoulder. She had lost count of the number of times he’d brought her to that intense place of pleasure where she both floated weightless and felt completely, wholly connected to her body.

“Yes, wife?” He tipped his face down to hers, flicking his tongue over the salty wetness and bumping noses with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his expression.

She had thought to draw his attention to the witnesses horrified, deeply uncomfortable expressions only to find that he was well aware of the effect their antics were having. Not only that, but he was _enjoying_ it. To her surprise, it was easy for her to read his dark, twisted smile and the way he glanced towards the witnesses. Perhaps more surprising was the realization that some heretofore unknown part of herself responded to it.

And the Princess smiled back at him, a flicker of something cold in her own eyes, a silent response to his wicked intentions. She supposed it _was_ terribly wicked to want to punish a man of God and everyone else in the room for all they had ever done, all the anger and frustration she’d been forced to tamp down on all her life. But she found that she didn’t much care. This particular revenge was too sweet, the things her husband was doing too wonderful for her to stop it now.

And Ivar saw her answer and read it just as easily as she’d read him, and he regarded her with something akin to pride. He kissed her mouth fiercely, possessively, heedless of any discomfort their passionate embrace caused the others.

The Princess moans into his mouth, eager to once again succumb to these mysterious new sensations. Of course, she’d known that there was _something_ more to be had from copulating than just the producing of offspring, but she’d always assumed it was something only had by men. That there could be pleasure in it for the woman as well put many of her observations at court into a whole new light.

She’d grown up watching the noblemen flaunt their mistresses, constantly seeking out new women to slake their lust. They were shameless, some even pawing at the servant girls right before her very eyes. She supposed that was not so different from what her husband was doing now, and perhaps she should be insulted to be treated like some common wench. Only the things he was making her feel were anything _but_ common.

Turning her around in his lap, Ivar set about kissing and touching her body in ways she never imagined. With an intense focus he worshipped her with his hands and mouth. Yet his worship was greedy like that paid unto an idol, an object of veneration but still an object, made to satisfy the need of its creator.

“Touch me.” he groaned into her skin, “Feel what you do to me.”

He takes her hand, presses it to his manhood. The Princess moans at the hardness there, explores it gently despite the new surge of shyness. She can feel the heat of it even through the fabric of his undergarments, his desire bold and shameless under her hand.

Ivar was cupping the back of her neck, holding her, keeping her so close that when he murmured, “Do you feel that?” she could feel his lips moving against her own.

“Yes.”

“Do you think you can take it? Take all of it into you?”

_No!_ Cried her mind. But with her voice she could only give something like an assent.

He pushed her back, his muscled arms flexing as he moved to hold himself over her. He watched her face with eyes half-closed with lust as he freed his member. She gave an involuntary flinch as he pressed it to her, the head just barely breaching her opening. In a flash his hand came up to hold her jaw, keeping her still as he slowly thrust his hips forward.

“Look at me.”

Ivar made her hold his gaze as he claimed her, even though the foreign intrusion was making her eyes feel strangely sleepy and she had to fight to keep them open. To her surprise there was no pain, only a strange feeling of being stretched. The pleasure was growing again, but somehow heavier this time. And it wasn’t just the weight of her husband on top of her. He still held himself above her, crushing her not with his body but the weight of his hawk-like stare.

“I-is that it?” She asked when his stillness finally became too much to bear.

His response was a slow smirk, followed immediately thereafter by a quick snapping movement of his hips. It jolted through her, from deep inside where he joined with her, out to her belly and her breasts and the very tips of her fingers and toes.

With a delighted laugh he did it again, forcing a strangled cry out of her chest. He found a rhythm that pleased him, fast and short strokes that drew more sounds from her. Sounds she didn’t intend to make but couldn’t seem to stop herself from, and his voice soon joined with hers.

The waves broke through her once again, and even Ivar seemed surprised and pleased by this. In his own language he spoke words that sounded like praise and encouragement as her body jerked and writhed. When she finally stilled he pulled from her abruptly, and she had neither the strength nor the desire to protest when he flipped her over. On her belly he thrust back into her, and she held to the tangled sheets beneath her for dear life as he set about stoking the fire once again.

Now the Princess could see the faces of the bishop and his lackeys. Their horror at the scene before them was sweeter than wildflower honey. And she found that the more she moaned the more appalled they became, so she held nothing back. She let her voice rise louder with whines, and whimpers and cries of, “Oh! Oh, yes!”

Her world shifted once again as Ivar wrapped one arm around her chest and lifted. Once again she straddled his legs, back pressed tight to his chest. For a moment she could only moan faintly at the change in angle, the way the tip of his member kept pressing against something deep inside her. In this position she was pleased to realized that she could easily bounce and rock, joining in with his sinful dance and stimulating them both all the more.

“That’s it.” he snarled into her ear, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “Do you like your husband’s big heathen cock inside you?”

“Yes, I love my husband’s cock in me.”

Ivar was once again surprised, apparently not expecting her to repeat his filthy words in a gentle croon. She wrapped her arms back around his shoulders, arching, putting her whole body on display for him if he cared to glance down.

“Yes? You want your husband to fill you up with his seed?” His voice rose with excitement, one hand once again holding her face close to his.

“Yes, yes, husband.”

He spread his palm just above her sex, fingertips digging into her soft flesh. “Shall I put a babe inside you? Will you enjoy watching your belly swell with my child?”

“I want it, yes! Fill me up, husband, please!”

He let loose something like a bellow of triumph. His hips moving wildly in and out of her. As one arm held her prisoner against his chest, the opposite fingers returned to the apex of her womanhood. She cried and twisted at the overstimulation from both his cock and his hand, but he held her fast.

His determination to ruin her one last time was rewarded. When she broke, it was with a scream and a gush of moisture that soaked the bed before them.

~...~

If he hadn’t been in the midst of spilling himself inside his wife, Ivar would have been a little more distracted by the sudden rush of liquid that poured out of her. As it was, the moment he recovered enough from his climax to think clearly, he was once again rendered insensible by the sight of their marriage bed drenched in her own release.

At some point, the witnesses made good on the chance to flee, faces red with all manner of emotions. But Ivar had ceased to care about them sometime between the points where his Princess had begun to fuck him back, and when she’d cooed for him to impregnate her.

She herself seemed just as shocked as he was, and deeply embarrassed. Stammering out the question, “D-did I just…?” She couldn’t bear to finish the thought.

Curious, Ivar lifted his fingers to his nose and sniffed. All he smelled was the heavy musk of female arousal. Next he licked them slowly, savoring the familiar tang. Beside him he heard the Princess yelp in shock.

“I do not think so.” he said.

It didn’t quite reassure her. Now that they were alone she seemed at a loss as to how to behave. She muttered something about having to change the linens, but when she tried to rise her legs wouldn’t hold her. She was forced to sit back down, limbs quaking, and Ivar struggled to smother laughter at the sight.

“Never mind.” he said, adjusting himself on the bed. Luckily, the wet spot had ended up near the foot of the bed. They would be comfortable enough for one night.

Looking at him over her shoulder, she showed surprise at seeing him lying back against the pillows. He didn’t understand why until she asked, “You mean to sleep here?”

Ivar chuckled, baffled. “Where else?”

“Did no one tell you? Your room is still available to you.”

“Why would I want to sleep there? My wife is here.”

“Oh.” she averted her eyes from him once again, “Here, it is not customary for couples of high class to share a room.”

Why the fuck not? What was wrong with these people? Why would any man give up the chance to sleep beside a warm woman? Especially one as lovely as Ivar’s wife. He took her by the elbow, tugging to indicate for her to lie down beside him. Her hands fluttered like butterflies over her full breasts. Her first instinct was still to hide herself from him. For the moment, though, that wasn’t what interested him.

He cupped her womanhood, feeling the heat there. She made some sound of indignation, but allowed him to guide her legs apart so he could see his seed beginning to trickle out of her. The sight was nearly enough to make him hard all over again. But his body was thoroughly exhausted and so he contented himself with lightly caressing her folds.

“Are you in very much pain?” He asked, mindful of his new duties as a husband – and a supplicant, his traitorous mind added – from now on, it was his responsibility to see to her well-being, and that all her needs were met.

“No, my lord.”

He glanced up at her whisper, and was pleased to find that, despite her obvious embarrassment, she was watching his ministrations. She seemed nearly as enraptured as he was, and it encouraged him to delicately scoop up the traces of his thick white seed and guide it back inside her.

When his eyes finally grew too heavy to remain open, he found a clean corner of blanket to pull over them. He wrapped his arms around his bride, luxuriating in how her curves gave against the hard planes of his body. Tucking his face into her neck he heaved one final sigh and fell asleep, a small smile on both their faces.

The next morning, half the palace woke to the sounds of their Princess and her new husband having a screaming row about how she did _not_ snore! While he protested that she, in fact, sounded like an axe at the grindstone and he would not stand to be shoved so rudely out of bed by his own wife!

~...~

Despite the inauspiciousness of that first morning for the newlyweds, it was known to have been quite pleasant for much of the rest of court. Several wives of prominent courtiers were noted to be in particularly fine spirits. Even years after, mysterious notes were passed amongst male servants, which were known as “How to Win Over One’s Wife: Instructions Noted by a Young Servant Present on the Occasion of the Consummation Between Her Royal Highness and Her Esteemed Spouse.” Eventually, these pages would be collected into a well-known book called more simply, “The Randy Pagan and His Bride”, although it was generally agreed that this title was not as fitting as the original.

Passion would never be a problem in the marriage between Ivar and his Princess. Love would take longer to come.

While he found having a goddess in his bed every night to be a thoroughly enjoyable experience, he quickly discovered that keeping her amenable to his attentions took a surprising amount of effort. It seemed that she was always either offended by his behavior, or expressing disapproval of his decisions in no uncertain terms, heedless of whoever happened to be present. Many of their attempts at conversation ended in quarrels and, by the time evening came, the Princess would be completely unresponsive to any attempts at seduction.

He was a clever lad, however, and it didn’t take him long to notice that his wife was far more welcoming at night when he’d taken care to show her a little tenderness during the day. And the Princess learned that her husband was less inclined to becoming surly and more likely to listen when she took care to not criticize him in public, but waited until they were alone to respectfully offer any comments or advice.

So by both tempering their dispositions just a little, and seeking a means by which both could feel valued in the ways that were important to them, they found that fond feelings naturally began to develop.

This was especially important during the many, many times that the Princess, later the Queen, was out of sorts due to her being, as it is said, _enceinte_.


End file.
